


The Preservation of Cultural Heritage

by mrspollifax



Category: Fringe
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-04
Updated: 2012-12-04
Packaged: 2017-11-20 08:02:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/583094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrspollifax/pseuds/mrspollifax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The first box arrives on Wednesday afternoon.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Preservation of Cultural Heritage

The first box arrives on Wednesday afternoon. Two more show up the morning after that. When she asks what's in them, Walter says it's a secret, but he's got that look about him. A tiny smile around the corners of his eyes and a little lilt in his step that say he really, really wants to tell her if only she'd take the trouble to press him just a bit.

But Astrid's not in the mood. She's slogging through her annual performance review, wondering why there isn't a box labeled _check here if you helped save the world multiple times this year_ that would allow her to skip the questions upon questions about her value to the FBI and her future goals and aspirations. It's a pain in the rear end, not to mention a crick in the neck and a cramp in the hand, and she simply can't summon the energy for fencing with Walter right now. She'll probably pay for it next week when his latest project blows up the lab, but for now, she lets the boxes slide.

It's not like the world is ending or anything. Not that she knows of, at least.

When Astrid heads home on Friday afternoon, there's a grand total of seven book-carton-sized boxes stacked over near the refrigerator. She's starting to get a little concerned, but she reminds herself that Peter's taking Walter and Olivia out of town for the weekend, so Walter won't be able to start putting together whatever experiment with disaster he's planning until Monday morning, and surely she'll be back from her meeting with Broyles in time to stop the universe from being ripped into shreds.

She's only going to be a couple of hours late, after all.

But by the time she makes it from headquarters out to Cambridge on Monday, it's nearly lunchtime. She stops at a deli to grab a sandwich and coffee and hurries to the Kresge building, bag in hand. She wends her way down hallways and stairs to the basement, narrowly missing a wandering undergrad or two, pushes her way through the lab door –

– and stops, stock still, right up against a wall of cartons that's higher than her head.

She really should have found out what was in those boxes.

"Walter?" she calls out.

"Oh! Agnes, dear." His voice sounds like it's coming from the other side of campus, muffled as it is by all those containers. "Take a left, then a right, then a left. Then go straight for about eight feet …."

She rolls her eyes and follows the directions through the cardboard maze until she reaches him, somewhere in the general vicinity of the cow.

"Walter," Astrid says, not sure whether to sound stern or incredulous. "What are you _doing_?"

He grins up at her from where he's crouched on the floor, reaching into an open box. The secret, badly-hidden excitement's gone now. It's been replaced instead by a totally uncontained glee.

"Okay." She puts her hands on her hips and squares her shoulders, preparing for the worst. "What's in the boxes?"

Walter's grin gets impossibly bigger, and he whips out a package from the carton beside him.

Astrid blinks. "Twinkies?"

"Isn't it wonderful?" Walter pushes himself up off the floor and tears into the plastic. He holds out a Twinkie in her direction, but she waves a hand at him and makes a face.

"Ugh," she says.

"Philistine," he counters.

Astrid snorts. "I'm okay with that." Pushing herself up on her tiptoes, she tries to assess exactly how much of the lab is filled with boxes. "So," she says after deciding she can't quite see the end of the forest of cardboard containers, "you were sad that Hostess closed, I take it."

"Someone must preserve the past," Walter says, drawing himself up taller and taking a huge bite of the Twinkie in his hand.

Astrid makes a face.

"I was _devastated_ ," he confesses around the mouthful of goopy sweet. He pauses for a moment to swallow. "That is," he continues, "I was devastated until I remembered that I can afford to buy whatever I like. And I'm fairly certain I can even find a budget at Massive Dynamic to expense it to, if only I look hard enough."

"Oh dear," she says.

"Not to mention," Walter adds, waving the half-eaten Twinkie around in the air, "that we're now well-supplied in the event of unexpected apocalypse."

"Ah. Right." Astrid turns around and starts to make her way back through the boxes.

"Where are you going?"

"I have to go call headquarters and amend my performance plan," she says, waving a hand over her shoulder.

She hears the boxes shifting about as Walter follows her. "Why?"

"I've got a brand new motivation for saving the world."


End file.
